The Three Fates
by dansemacabre
Summary: What sort of punishment would the Goblin King impose upon Ludo, Hoggle and Sir Didymus for their insubordination? Humor with a touch of J/S. COMPLETE.
1. Spin

**Author's Note:** This was written during the 2008 labyfic livejournal community fic exchange for **Wiccarowan**, who asked for a story that dealt with the aftermath of the castle attack and its effect upon the minor characters. In Greek mythology, the three Fates (the Moirae) are said to determine the fate of every mortal from birth until death. In Labyrinth fanfic, writers steal this idea and turn it into absurd vignettes about what happens to Ludo, Hoggle and Sir Didymus soon after the events of the movie take place. Humor, with maybe just a smidgen of J/S.

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**The Three Fates**

**1. Spin**

_"That it should come to this!"  
__**Hamlet**__, Act I, Scene II_

It was no easy task to rebuild the goblin city.

The lower metropolis had been worst hit-- not necessarily by the boulders, but by friendly fire. Many walls still bore the marks of an errant cannon-goblin landing, and where the garrison stood was only a pile of rubble and splintered timbers. Worst of all, the city's oldest public house had been leveled in the battle-- the venerable Green Potato Inn on Goatsbottom Lane. It was bad enough to be defeated and homeless, protested the goblins, but being forced to endure such hardship while sober was surely too much to ask. All agreed that it would take a great deal to restore their home to its former glory.

There was, of course, magic.

The Labyrinth was born of magic, or so the storytellers claimed: a single enchanted pebble in the pocket of a traveler between worlds, spat into the maelstrom of wild sorcery and emerging on the other side transformed. After a summer storm the very air crackled with it, arcs of pure power racing to bridge the midnight gap between earth and sky. It was only natural that the goblins looked to their enigmatic ruler to wield it as he'd always done. Jareth, they argued, would re-shape the Labyrinth and make it anew.

But on this matter, the Goblin King was curiously silent. When the days turned into weeks, rumors flew from one end of the kingdom to the other. Some said he'd fallen under a curse and spent his nights poring over books in his library in search of the one spell that would lift it. Others said his encounter with She Who Must Not Be Named had exhausted him utterly, leaving him no magic to spare for urban reconstruction. Jareth did nothing, nor did he appear inclined to clear up the mystery.

Instead, the task of rebuilding the goblin city was delegated to Ludo, and if he felt it was a harsh punishment for his small role in the insurrection, he wisely kept his opinions to himself. It was highly preferable to the alternative: being tried as a war criminal and having his hide appropriated in order to manufacture the Underground's Most Hideous Duvet.

It could not be denied that Ludo was well suited to the job, since the building materials were quite literally at his beck and call. Before long, every goblin foreman had placed orders for granite foundation stones and limestone blocks, slate for the roofing tiles and even gravel to repave the streets. Rumor had it that Jareth was taking the opportunity to renovate his private bath in white marble with floor-to-ceiling mirrors and a separate steam room, but Sir Didymus vehemently denied this report of hedonistic royal excess.

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Rock calling was best done at dawn.

It began with a throaty crooning that set the earth humming underfoot and rattled windows in their frames. After a few warm-up scales, it built to a sinus-clearing howl until the entire city was awakened by Ludo's piercing bellow echoing over the rooftops. Then at precisely thirteen minutes after sunrise, the city gates flew open and a river of boulders poured in, rolling briskly up the hill and toward the castle. Their arrival was punctual as clockwork and became popular viewing for an easily amused goblin populace.

A few foolhardy goblins even made an entertainment of it, running across the street and dodging the tumbling boulders at the last second. They called this new game "Splorrrt", because that was the sound the losers made.

It was such a spectacle that even Jareth himself was lured out to the ramparts to watch, although uncharitable folk claimed he came to cheer for the rocks. Sir Didymus usually denied this too, but it must be said that in the weeks and months following the Uprising, the game of Splorrrt was one of the few things capable of bringing a small smile to the Goblin King's lips.

Sir Didymus also attended, when he wasn't busy discharging other duties. He had his own reparations to make for his disloyalty to the throne, but from time to time it pleased the Goblin King to have him near if only so Jareth had someone to snub. They made an odd pair: the tall king and the diminutive knight, one haughty, the other humbled. After many days of grim silence, the Goblin King finally conceded to speak to his companion.

"Fine sport."

Sir Didymus snapped to attention. "Indeed, sire."

Down in the streets, a goblin wearing a battered soup tureen for a helmet received a glancing blow to the head and staggered off into an alley only a little worse for wear. When the referee gave the all-clear, a relieved cheer and round of applause went up from the spectators.

"The padded armor rather spoils the fun," added Jareth, looking a touch displeased.

"One might argue that without it, the rocks possess an unjust advantage, sire."

The Goblin King's eyes narrowed slightly at this. "Ah, yes. A level playing field is so very important. We wouldn't wish to be _unfair_, would we?"

Belatedly, the knight recalled that his king had developed a sensitivity as of late regarding such terms, and he changed the subject with all diplomatic haste.

After a few minutes, one of the Splorrrt players was hit so hard with a pumpkin-sized boulder that his armor went flying off in several directions. The Goblin King unsuccessfully stifled a laugh behind one gloved hand and unfolded an elegant pair of gold opera glasses for a closer look.

Sir Didymus cleared his throat hopefully. "Your Majesty, thou didst say a few days ago that we could discuss the matter of... forgiveness?"

"How long has it been since the uprising, Didymus?" The Goblin King continued to watch the game, his expression deceptively bland.

"Six weeks and five days, sire."

From his perch on the city walls, Ludo took a break to gargle and sip some hot tea with lemon and honey. The river of bouncing boulders temporarily slowed to a trickle, and the surviving players limped off to one side to partake of cold refreshments and liniment.

"Six weeks and five days," repeated Jareth, stroking his chin as if in contemplation, "And _how_ long did I say you three were to be punished for your base and cowardly treachery?"

Sir Didymus struggled for a few moments before honesty won out. "An eternity, Your Majesty."

The Goblin King fixed the knight with a dark look. "Then by my calculations, it will be quite some time before any of you can expect a reprieve, will it not? Ludo may continue to summon rocks until his voice gives out or I run out of building projects, and Hogwart can certainly remain in exile until _his_ duties are discharged."

_Which will be never,_ was the unspoken addendum.

Sir Didymus' whiskers quivered in dismay. "But Your Majesty, I--"

"And you," said the Goblin King, voice smoother than silk, "Isn't there something _you_ ought to be doing as well?"

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_**Author's Note:** This is the first of four parts._

_Comments/reviews welcome._


	2. Measure

**2. Measure**

_"Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall."  
__**Measure for Measure**__, Act II, scene I_

Hoggle was having a bad day. This was nothing new, of course. There hadn't been many good days after Jareth had seen fit to make good on a promise he'd made about a certain dwarf being kissed by a certain fair maiden. Hoggle flailed furiously at a persistent cloud of blootflies buzzing around his head. How long ago was that?

_Let's see, the yellow-spotted stink lilies bloomed every fourth day and if you took that number and divided it by..._ Hoggle tried to calculate, but was distracted by the clothes-pin on his nose.

"Stop trying to look at it," advised the Junk Lady, "It'll only make you cross-eyed."

Agnes sat on a fallen log, examining her collection. Due to lack of proper goblin refuse in the Bog, she'd taken up collecting natural specimens. This afternoon's search had yielded a handful of exotic fungus, a fossilized crab, several pine cones and one anxious-looking toad.

Hoggle glared at her irritably. "I can't help it, the damn thing's always in the way. Doesn't it bother you? The smell, I mean."

Agnes shrugged and poked around in the mud. "It smells like the junkyard ripening on a hot summer day. Reminds me of home."

Inwardly, Hoggle groaned. At least Ludo and Didymus were allowed to remain in the goblin city, even if they didn't see much of one another. Sarah often wrote, but visits were clearly out of the question. If it hadn't been for Agnes, he'd have no one to talk to at all.

Hoggle missed the Labyrinth and clean air. He missed spraying for fairies among the roses. He even missed the damn goblins.

"_One_ little rebellion in all my years of service..." he muttered resentfully.

His new home wasn't much to look at. While the Bog was certainly big, most of it was unstable and the surrounding woods with its greenish-yellow miasma of funk was no better. In the middle of it was an island that was mostly mud and cattails anchored together by the roots of a decrepit willow tree. In a stiff breeze, the island had a tendency to bob up and down on the murky water most alarmingly. It was doing so now, Agnes perched on the banks of the Bog with a pointed stick in her hand and her sharp eyes scanning the reeds.

Hoggle's throne was an old stump padded with with marsh-grass and milkweed fluff. As the island rocked like a leaky boat, he clutched at the seat with both hands to keep from falling off, feeling very sorry for himself.

He'd paid a high price for that kiss.

Yesterday, a letter from Didymus had arrived, promising a visit as soon as he could convince the Goblin King to give him a short holiday. Hoggle snorted at the very idea, but the knight had spoken of his desire to study the Bog's unusual fauna and flora in such rapturous language that he hated to shatter his friend's illusions. Besides, even Hoggle was forced to admit that the Bog was rich in resources, in its own way. He might die of boredom or eventual asphyxiation, but he wouldn't go hungry.

From her seat among the reeds, Agnes lunged suddenly at something near the water's edge. A splash and a brief struggle later, she grunted in triumph and held up her stick with something brownish-green and wriggling on the end.

"Another frog leg, Your Highness?"

"No. Thanks, though."

_Prince of the Land of Stench,_ thought Hoggle in disgust. _That rat Jareth never had a sense of humor at all._

_

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_**Author's Note: ** This is the second of four parts.  
_

_Comments/reviews welcome._


	3. Cut

**3. Cut**

_"The better part of valour is discretion."  
__**Henry IV**__, Act V, scene IV_

_Meredith Matheson  
alias Princess Sapphira Selena Moonsparkle of the High Sidhe Court  
1976 Nassau St.  
Princeton, NJ 08542  
USA_

_Dear Meredith,_

_It is with deepest regret we inform thee that thy petition to enter the aforementioned Goblin Kingdom (known henceforth in the common vernacular as "the Underground") was not accepted. While thou art indeed a promising candidate, at such time we are unable to fulfill the thousands of requests per annum for transportation and escort to the castle beyond the Goblin City. Enclosed for thy perusal is a copy of our new immigration policy with regard to issues of asylum eligibility and child endangerment, which we hope will be of some aid to thee._

_Many thanks for thy keen interest in our fair kingdom, and please accept our heartfelt glad tidings as thou seekest other opportunities!_

_Thy humble servant,_

_Sir Didymus  
Secretary to his Royal Majesty King Jareth the Merciful_

Didymus put down his pen and massaged his aching paw. A growing pile of correspondence sat on his desk, awaiting the stamp of the royal seal. There were so very many letters to write to disappointed young ladies and he did not relish being the bearer of bad news. But alas, mused the knight, such is the way of just and righteous punishments.

With a furtive look around his empty study, Didymus slid a small ivory case from his pocket and clicked it open. The miniature had arrived only that afternoon, commissioned in secrecy from the finest goblin painter in the land. Though he'd had little to base it upon but the knight's description, the artist had captured her well-- long, dark hair and laughing eyes, a bouquet of Firey feathers clasped lightly in one hand.

Sir Didymus nodded in quiet admiration. It was true that the years passed more slowly down in the Underground, but soon his lady would be of age. She was as wise as she was beautiful, and who could tell? Perhaps one day she would find her way back, through magical means or otherwise. No matter what others might say, Didymus believed with all his heart that harsh words could be unsaid and cruel deeds undone. Even the notoriously flammable temper of a Goblin King might cool... in time.

Sir Didymus sighed and put the miniature away, picking up his pen once more.

_Christine Nichols  
alias Countess Sakura Ravynova le Fay  
42 Church St.  
Moreton-in-Marsh  
__Gloucestershire, GL56 0BY  
United Kingdom_

_Dear Christine,_

_It is with deepest regret we inform thee..._

_

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_**Author's Note:** This is the third of four parts.  
_

_Comments/reviews welcome._


	4. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_"O! she doth teach the torches to burn bright..."  
__**Romeo and Juliet**__, Act I, scene V_

In the broken hall of time and memory, Jareth sat alone beneath a crumbling stone arch.

The great clock was silent, a fine cobweb pattern of cracks covering the glass dial. The golden door at its base hung open, the insides a wreck of lifeless gears and springs; around it, shards of rock floated in timeless suspension high above the winding maze of the Labyrinth. This was a haunted place, a ghost of a dream-- during the day it did not exist. If he were to climb the steps at noon there was nothing but a flat rooftop, moss and weeds growing between the paving stones.

It was only at night that Jareth could find his way back, icy draughts caressing his face and hands as he ascended. It was only at night he could look upon the ruins, a reminder of all that had been and all that would never be.

Light flared in the darkness, a sphere as fragile as blown glass. The Goblin King cupped it in his bare hands, breathing life into it as one might coax a dying spark into flame. He waited.

Tendrils of magic coiled around him, glittering as though a galaxy of stars lay bound up in the swirling mist. There was little enough power left to him, that was true. But day by day it grew, and now it was sufficient for what he needed. The crystal grew warm under Jareth's touch, glowing like a captive moon. It hovered just above his outstretched fingertips, and the light within began to shift and shape itself...

_All the other windows in the house were dark but one, a dim square of light softened by the sheer curtains. The oak tree outside had just begun to turn and a girl leaned upon the window frame, reaching out to pluck a single crimson leaf. It was autumn and the nights would soon grow cold, but on this night there were neither moon nor clouds, nothing to shroud the starry expanse of sky stretching above her._

_Starlight, star bright, first star I see tonight. I wish..._

The Goblin King held his breath at her audacity, but the girl didn't finish the sentence. She stood unmoving at the window for a long time. Jareth drew the crystal close, feeding out power the way a spider spun silk. She was a silhouette, a shadow. One stray breath and the vision might vanish.

_The girl tilted her head as though she were listening to a song on the wind. She brought the oak leaf up to her cheek. It smelled of old paper with a bitter memory of woodsmoke, reminding her of someone she knew long ago. The bedside lamp illuminated her briefly, a face that had not yet lost its childish roundness, skin as pale as winter._

Jareth's hand closed hard upon the crystal in something like despair. Time passed more slowly in the Underground, and he did not have forever. It would seem a lifetime...

But the gleaming sphere did not shatter; he could not bear to look away.

_She lifted a hand to the cool night air as though she were testing the wind. For just a moment the light caught her eyes, sparrow-brown and sun-gold, green as the moss growing on the north side of an oak. It was the promise of spring and summer to come._

The Goblin King had not meant to speak her name, not now or ever again-- but the word escaped him nonetheless, soft and hungry. Aboveground, the call of an owl pierced the night. The girl started from the window, the leaf forgotten, and then...

Jareth might've sworn she whispered to it, pressed it briefly against her lips before opening her hand and letting it flutter away into the darkness.

The crystal dimmed and the Goblin King tucked it into his sleeve as he stood, feeling the ache in every limb that came from hours of immobility. As he descended from the tower, the mist had already begun to dissipate and the first grey light of dawn streaked the eastern sky. Tonight, he promised himself. He would summon all the birds of air that were his to call, and he would send them to fetch a scarlet oak leaf, one that bore upon it a whispered message and the kiss of summer.

A cool breeze swept dew from the roof tiles and scattered them across the empty courtyard. Water droplets landed upon the back of his wrist, beading upon his skin; it tasted of cedar and stone, damp moss and clouds. The Goblin King closed his eyes. Once he'd had nothing but time, but now...

Only dreams and visions would fill his days. There would be many more nights spent gazing upon the ruins. Jareth slipped one hand inside his sleeve, pressing something cold and hard against his breast where it might be warmed a little by the contact.

He would wait.

**The End**

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_Author's Note_: **_This is the last of four parts, and I do not currently have plans to continue. It was written for **Wiccarowan**, who decreed that it should not have any longterm Jareth/Sarah pining or angst. In that spirit, I've included less than two months' worth. _

_Comments/reviews welcome._


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